


The Afterlife

by GG_Ladybug



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Afterlife, Character Death, Death, Friendship, Gen, Imaginary Friends, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_Ladybug/pseuds/GG_Ladybug
Summary: People wonder what happens after you die. Raphael had too. Turns out, heaven and hell is a bunch of crap and imaginary friends aren’t so imaginaryOrA small writing prompt I completed at 4am for no other reason then I was bored-
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794553
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Afterlife

Raphael has his first meeting with death was when he had just turned seven years old. He stood over an extravagant casket draped in an American flag. His father, Gabriel, told him that death was just an inevitable part of life that just happened at the worst of times. Even to people you cared for. Everyone went on to say that even as their life came to a close, another was just beginning as they moved onto heaven or hell.

Raphael never interrupted as he was filled in with information he only just understood. Their quiet, hushed voices weren’t helping his correlation with the events. Perhaps he’d just have to learn it in school later. His sister definitely understood something he didn’t. Maybe she had already taken that lesson.

He doesn’t know what all that is supposed to mean. All he’s told is that Uncle was sleeping now because of how hard he fought. That he didn’t get. He’d promised to come back and teach him chess. Why would he break it by sleeping for so long? In a black box too? Sure it had padding in it, but that would get uncomfortable after some time.

Maybe he was just sick. It would explain all the bright roses that were being rested on the surface of the coffin as they payed their respects and the army general saying things in a sad voice. Get well soon presents was what his parents gave him whenever he got the flu. He almost feels bad he didn’t get one for Uncle Gabriel too.

Raphael was even more confused as they fired shots into the air. Why would the risk waking Micheal up? Gunshots were far too loud to someone trying to get to sleep. They lowered him into the hole they dug into the ground and whoever volunteered began to drop handfuls of dirt in. The earth must be his blanket to make sure he stayed warm.

It took him another two years to realise that Uncle Micheal wasn’t going to wake up no matter how much noise anyone made and that was why his father had been so sad. When he turned fourteen, his mother followed in Uncle Michael’s footsteps after being gunned down by a suspect while working a case for the police department. This time he understands. This time he cried like his sister as his father was handed a folded up flag.

Now the FBI headquarters father works at has her picture up on the wall with her name and date of death engraved on a small plaque. Had you asked him at seven, he’d have no clue why. Now he was a teenager, it was terrifyingly clear. She had died on duty. Died. Not fell asleep. He wasn’t gullible enough to fall for that anymore. Agent Emily Prenreid was up in heaven.

Just a month later, he’s attending a joint funeral for his father, grandfather, sister and grandmother. A man Gabriel had put away had escaped from court and driven right into them while they were driving to visit his mother’s grave together. Raphael almost wished he had actually been in the car at the time. At least then, he’d actually be with them in heaven. He keeps waiting for it to happen, because everyone else has done it already.

Eden, his sister, had wanted to work for INTERPOL like grandfather and grandmother. She was going to get into the academy too if she hadn’t died when she did. He was aiming for an FBI profiler. Pretty much everyone worked for the government in their family line. Now he wasn’t sure if he had it in him if that meant growing up as the kid they all knew from his family’s unfortunate deaths.

The foster system, he found, sucked. Jumping home to home was repetitive as it was dangerous. The only reason he hadn’t been hurt already was because of his familiar relations. Everyone that took him in knew that the FBI had agents tailing him half the time since the man that killed the last of his family was still on the loose. That’s why he bounced around so often. No one was willing to paint a target on their backs for long.  
  
For the rest of school, he stopped raising his hand altogether. It’s far easier to keep his head down in a book and write lesson notes out to make it seem as though he’s at least doing something. He knows it all already. He’s never called on. Nobody sits with him at lunch and at recess, he eats alone by the fence to ensure no one prompts him.

Graduating early was a godsend. He couldn’t bare pretending to be on everyone else’s level for a second longer or he’d scream. As soon as he turned eighteen, he’d used his inheritance and trust fund to get himself a place he could call his own. Eventually, he made it into the academy and got out the other side with official papers in hand.

How he did so was still a mystery to him. While his grades were stellar, physical activity wasn’t his thing. Marksmanship included. He was pretty sure the only reason he passed with exceptions was because of his brains. If not, he would’ve dropped out long ago. The move to Quantico was quick. Within the week, he’d settled into his new workplace.

Getting passed the whole family legacy thing was a feet and a half, but the team he was apart of never profiled him. It was their little rule. Never profile each other. They knew practically everything about each other already. Small secrets were a mercy.

It’s when he’s twenty nine, he finally meets death himself. He goes down in a blaze of glory when someone targets their building in a series of bombings. He’d managed to get the rest of his team out. That was all he registered to matter before the man let go of the deadman’s switch. Dying was strangely slow for him. He supposed it was because he’d jumped behind a steel desk in time. There was no pain expect for a fleeting moment. He’d expected a lot more then that as his vision blacked out.

His eyes opened again, expecting one of four things. One, he’d survived and was now in hospital. Two, he’d died and was in heaven. Three, he’d died and been condemned to hell. Four it was all bullshit and he was in a type of black limbo for the rest of eternity. Neither of said experiences end up actually happening...

It’s a play room. A bloody play room. This had to be a dream. Some deconstructed memories. Maybe he was still out cold from the blast or in some weird fever dream. Even after he closes his eyes and rubs as hard as he can, whispering to himself to wake up, he feels a tugging on his suit leg that makes his eyes open in shock.

“H-Hello, mister. Will you join my tea party since mommy and daddy are too busy?” The little girl questioned nervously. It takes him by surprise to the point where he jumped away, detangling himself from the small girl, and reached for his holstered gun. Reflexes and all that. Even as the pistol levelled at the child’s head, she simply giggled in amusement.  
  
He pressed his back to the wall and stared wide eyed at the child that was sitting down at her play table. She had to be what? Five? Six? Putting away his weapon with some hesitance, he swallowed harshly. He doesn’t know how he finds it in him to speak in his shock, but he does. “I thought I was dead.” He deadpanned.

“Are you a ghost, like in those stories?!?” She gasped in shock. What morbid things were kids learning these days? He didn’t get death until he was nine. He cocked his head to the side curiously. “Do you... think I’m a ghost?” He questioned, and took a step closer. There is no sound on the floorboards, strangely enough. Not even the click of a footstep.

“No silly! Ghosts don’t exist, daddy says so!” She laughed loudly. He puts his finger on his lips, shushing her before said parents hear the commotion and assume he’s some sort of intruder. If he’s still alive, he’d rather avoid getting shot by a furious husband or alerting whoever had kidnapped them.

“I’m Raphael. What’s you’re name?” He questioned simply, kneeling down next to her. “I’m Emily!” She smiled brightly. Huh. Like his mother. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m not a ghost. I don’t think so at least. I’m...” He hesitated for a second, before it hit him all at once as though he’d known it all along.  
  
Prior knowledge like that? Supernatural. He’s not a ghost. Not even technically alive. He didn’t have to worry about noise or if someone walked in because only she could see him. He’s her imaginary friend. So much for heaven and hell. Was this a test of morals and character? A limbo period?

“I know all sorts of things about you somehow. I don’t know how, Emily. I just do. I know your father is called Aaron, your mother is called Iris and you have a baby sister called Abigail. I know that you have bad dreams too and that you’re top of your class. Your favourite colour is red and you like playing pretend.” He listed off the top of his head. He was sure he knew more. He just wish he knew how. “Wow, Mister Prenreid! You’re so cool!” She squealed excitedly. He cocks his head to the side in shock. So she knew things about him too then. He hadn’t even told her his last name yet. “Tell me... what do you think I do then?” He probed, straightening his tie.

“You work for the big guys up top! The FBI! Your badge says so! You can tell things about people from how they act and what they do and catch bad guys doing it. It’s so cool.” She pointed out. Had he had his badge on when he died? No. Maybe when you become someone’s friend you take the neatest form. Best not show a child a burned body or he’ll end up with an unsub in the making.  
“Are you a mind reader?” Raphael asked offhandedly. Emily giggles again, and her smile is gentle and bright. She shakes her head in a confident negative. “Nope! I’m just me! I’m your friend and your mine!” She clapped. Friend. He could do that. He could figure this out.

Going to sit down at the table, he found he could actually pick up the tea cup which made her jump in happiness that he’d accepted her invitation. No one else would be able to see that though. He was sure of it. Maybe when she was older he’d be able to eat and drink something when she served it. Until then, he could pretend to sip on air. She was a child. This is what children did.

“You can tell your parents about me. Okay? But not after you turn seven. Or they’ll worry.” Most children stopped seeing friends after they turned seven and joined elementary school. He wasn’t willing to bet they wouldn’t take her to a physiatrist first schizophrenic behaviour if he wasn’t careful. Yet he had to make sure she believed he was real. He didn’t want to know what would happen if she stopped believing either. Would he roam forever without anyone knowing? Would he simply find a new child? Would he move onto something else?

“Yes sir!” Emily saluted goofily. Raising a child. That was what this was. Wasn’t it? He’d parents were rather neglectful from what he already knew off his head. They were just too busy with their jobs. Nothing purposeful, but the small things matter. Leaving her alone caused her to... what? Invent him? Summon him? God, he hated dying. It was so complicated. Was everyone in his family with a kid right now? Could he see other imaginary friends? This was hurting his head.

Smiling in content, he played tea party. What else could Raphael do? It only took him five minutes in to realise he wish he hadn’t become a profiler. Why? He could tell that this girl had trauma just be looking at her, and he meant a lot of it. Scratch that raising thing. He might have to protect her too. It made far more sense now. Imaginary FBI agent to play with and talk to? That screamed wanting someone in authority to help.

Maybe he didn’t want those parents to spend more time with her after all...


End file.
